


Not Okay

by jordieey



Series: Glee--Missing Scenes/Fix-its/ [13]
Category: Glee
Genre: Confusion, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, NOT a character-bashing fic, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 06:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13452831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jordieey/pseuds/jordieey
Summary: Artie realizes that his and Brittany's "first time" wasn't exactly what one would call consensual.(This is not a character-bashing fic. Will be told in parts.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possible trigger warning. 
> 
> I am not trying to offend anyone by writing this. Sexual assault is a serious matter, and I will try to deal with it in the most respectful, realistic, and mature way I know how. I am not, in any way, condoning anything by writing this. 
> 
> There will no explicit scene of non-con, but please be aware that Artie will be dealing with the aftermath during the next chapter or two. 
> 
> I am not trying to write a Brittany-hating story. It simply boils down to this: People have left comments saying that what took place between Brittany and Artie was not altogether consensual, so I am addressing this issue. 
> 
> Also, this fic is completely unrelated to Idiots and Unacceptable. If this had taken place in the show, Artie likely would have been more sympathetic with Ryder right off the bat. 
> 
> Without further ado:

This wasn’t exactly what Artie thought the “afterglow” of his first time would feel like. Actually, the entire experience had been so far from what his expectations had been, they might as well have existed on separate planets. 

He hadn’t expected to feel so nervous, to feel a crawling sensation when Brittany almost lovingly began to remove his clothes. 

When Brittany had started to rub her hands over his chest, Artie had grabbed her wrists in an almost bruising grip. Brittany, not seeming to understand his intentions, had seemed delighted at this.

“Oh, you like it rough, then?”

“I--” Artie had started to say, only to freeze when she dived for his neck, biting down painfully.

“I can do rough,” Brittany had whispered in his ear, her voice soft and lilting.

The rest of it was a bit of a blur--partly, Artie supposed, because he didn’t have any sensation in his lower body. All he knew is that, although his body seemed to have enjoyed the experience, Artie himself hadn’t.

He might have tried to tell her to stop. He wasn’t really sure. 

Artie turned his head on the pillow it was resting on, brows furrowing as he took in Brittany’s peacefully sleeping face. She was clutching a stuffed pink elephant in her hands, looking so utterly content. Artie wondered, briefly, what she was dreaming about. Rainbows? Puppies? That seemed possible.

Arite looked back up at the ceiling, feeling more confused than ever. When he looked at Brittany, so innocent in her sleep, he couldn’t help but soften toward her. Surely he couldn’t feel that way about someone who’d--

He couldn’t even think the word. 

To be fair, though, he hadn’t exactly said no, Artie reasoned.

/To be fair/ a voice from in the back of his mind said mockingly /you didn’t exactly yes, either./

That--

Was true. But did it matter? Didn’t a person’s actions--their enthusiasm--say “yes” for them?

/Oh, you wanna talk about the fact that you almost had a panic attack when Brittany--/

Truthfully, if Artie had had working legs, he probably would have fled Brittany’s house a long time ago. Even now, as he lay there next to an innocent-looking Brittany, Artie’s skin crawled. He kind of wanted to have a shower. 

His breath stuttered, and Artie took a moment to breathe slowly and deliberately. He tried to edge himself away from Brittany as much as the bed would allow.

Artie squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remain calm. He just had to make it through to the morning, he assured himself. And then he could go home, take a shower, and forget this ever happened. Everything would be perfectly fine. 

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie reaches his breaking point. 
> 
> Trigger warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure how many parts this is going to be. I thought I would finish up in part two, but I know this will take me some time to write, and I don't want to keep readers waiting too long.

Artie stared blankly at the ceiling as the warm water engulfed him from the neck down. He’d been doing this a lot more frequently--bathing, that is. At least up until a few days ago, when his mother had commented on the unnatural amount of time he spent in the bathtub. 

This would be the last time, Artie told himself. The last time he let himself soak for more than hour.

And hey, if he was really desperate, he could always head over to one of the spray parks in Ohio. There was one located only a few blocks away from McKinley--he could use glee club as an excuse as to why he didn’t want to come home right after school.

Not that any amount of washing himself actually helped, Artie thought bitterly. Sitting up straight, Artie snacthed a wash coth from the side of the bathtub, before squeezing a generous amount of soap onto it. After making sure the soap was carefully rubbed into the cloth, he shoved his hand under the water and started to scrub vigorously between his legs. He winced a bit as he did so--the area was still sore after all the other times he’d washed himself.

No matter how many times he washed, Artie could never feel clean. He hated it. 

***  
(Artie had done some research on, of course, the internet. After navigating various condescending articles that insisted “it couldn’t happen to men,” Artie had finally come up with the answer he needed. Not wanted, but needed. 

What Brittany had done fell under the official definition of rape. 

Artie...wasn’t entirely sure what he should do with that knowledge. Oh, he knew what he was supposed to do, of course. But knowing he should go to the police and actually working up the courage to do so were two entirely different things.

He had some pictures, though, for when he finally worked up the courage. He’d taken a picture of the bite mark on his neck--making sure his face could be seen as well--along with the other bruises Brittany had left behind. She was quite strong--the perks of being a Cheerio, he supposed.)

***  
Brittany seemed to think they were dating--well, dating “again.” After “that night” she and Artie had had breakfast together, at which she had sat down right down in his lap. 

It had taken every bit of his willpower not to shove her off.

Finding out that she’d been using him for his voice had filled him with a mixture of relief and rage. Relief, because he had excuse to break up with her without deliberately hurting her feeling--damn him, he couldn’t help but care about her--rage, because it was bad enough she’d forcefully taken his virginity, but she hadn’t even done it for a good reason.

That was…

Anyway, apparently they were dating again. Brittany sure seemed to think they were, after he’d, haltingly, told her that he forgave her for using him.

When glee club started up on a Wednesday, Artie was staring blank across the room, halfheartedly listening to Puck prattle on about something or other while he tightly clutched his phone. 

/Go to the police. Just do it. You know you have to./

And yet…

What if Brittany was arrested, and something horrible happened to her there. Artie wasn’t stupid--he’d seen stories of what happened to people in prison. As mad as he was at the blonde cheerleader--and he definitely was furious--he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her. 

But he also didn’t want to carry this with him for years--decades--never getting justice. Never getting help. 

Artie was so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t fully process Brittany’s presence in the choir room until she had plopped down right into his lap.

And--

Was like Artie was in an ocean in the middle of a storm, being tossed around like a rag doll, unable to /do/ anything. He couldn’t breathe, and oh God, she was touching him everywhere--

/No no no stop!/

Before Artie even realized what he was doing, he had lifted his arms and shoved Brittany violently, sending her sprawling ungracefully to the ground with a gasp. 

“Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” Artie screamed, drop his arms and rolling backwards as much as he could. 

Artie dropped his head in his hands, breathing heavily. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him.  
“Artie?” Brittany called softly, sounding worried. When Artie looked up, she had gotten up off the floor and was taking a hesitant step toward him. Artie breathed frantically, trying to back up even.

“Dude, what’s up?” Finn asked. 

Kurt, quietly, said, “Artie, are you okay?”

“What the fuck, Abrams?” Santana hissed, appearing at Brittany’s side. He body was tense, ready to defend. 

Mr. Schue was approaching him cautiously, asking what was wrong. 

/What’s not wrong?/ Artie thought bitterly.

“Leave me alone,” Artie muttered, ducking his head and beginning to roll forward. Some people tried to stop him.

Artie ignored them.

He needed to get out of here. 

***  
(It wasn’t until the aftermath of “that night” that it fully hit Artie just how screwed up the world really was. Too many people thought it wasn’t possible for men to get raped, especially not by a woman. They were told they should have “enjoyed” it--even a young boy, assaulted by a much older woman, hadn’t been taken seriously. “Lucky kid”? What was that even supposed to mean?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint for next part: An unlikely friendship(?) starts under unlikely circumstances. 
> 
> Hope this was good.
> 
> Reviews?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry. It's short, but I hope you like it.

Out of all the members of the New Directions, Santana was about the last person Artie expected to chase after him. Or maybe she was the first. He had, after all, basically attacked Brittany--from a certain perspective. Santana had always been overprotective of her fellow cheerleader. 

Artie couldn’t help but question the nature of their relationship sometimes.

“What the /hell/ was that, Abrams?” Santana snarled. She somehow managed to slam the door to the boys’ washroom closed. 

The protest that girls weren’t allowed in here died on Artie’s lips under Santana’s molten glare. In the brief silence that ensued, Artie suddenly became aware that he was, in fact, alone. With a girl that was undoubtedly just as strong--if not stronger than--Brittany. His breathing started to pick up, and Artie’s vision momentarily went black. 

“Shit, whoa. What the hell?” Artie heard from a distance. He felt hands settle on his shoulders, and panicked. Desperately, he tried to push them away, needing space; needing her to /stop touching him--/

A slap across the face brought Artie back to reality. Santana’s annoyed and--although she would probably never admit it--concerned face swam into focus. Seeming to realize he was back, Santana gently grabbed Artie’s hair and examined his eyes intently.

“You back in earth, Abrams?” Santana snarked. “It’s rather nice here.” There was a shaky quality to her voice that Artie would never bring up for the rest of his life. Santana would probably murder if he did. 

He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if it came to light one day that Santana was the leader of some sort of mafia. Or secretly running the country. She had the right type of personality for it; the right amount of courage. Perhaps Santana and Sue Sylvester were in rival gangs. 

Artie didn’t know exactly what he planned to say. Several things ran through his mind, such as, “I’m fine.”; “I’m sorry about what happened back there.”; “Leave me alone.

But what escaped past his lips was: “Brittany and I didn’t have sex.” 

Santana looked surprised. She stepped back, cocking and eyebrow at him in a mocking manner. “Wow,” she said snidely. “I know you, of all people, aren’t particularly….” Her eyes drifted down to his legs. “...experienced in that area. But I thought even you would know what sex is, Abrams.”

Artie shook his head, closing his eyes as he did so. The horror, the shame of what had happened nearly strangled him. 

In a slightly choked voice, he managed to force out, “I didn’t want it.” 

When Artie opened his eyes, Santana had gone eerily still. She had a faraway look in her eyes, and she seemed to have paled. She quickly regained her composure, however, and shot Artie the most vicious glare he had ever seen.

“Brittany would never do that,” she said in a low voice, taking a menacing step forward.

Artie’s fingers flexed against the wheels of his chair as he resisted the urge to roll away from her. In an equally quiet voice, he replied, “I don’t think she knew she was doing it.” 

Santana seemed to freeze at those words--and yes, she was definitely pale now. Her eyes stared some point over Artie’s head. And then, her expression becoming hard, Santana stiffened, turned around, and stormed into the hallway. The door closed behind her almost silently.

Artie dropped his head into his hands, and tried not to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think so far? I think there will be two or three more parts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more part to go after this! Hope you like it.

It wasn’t until the next day that anything truly noteworthy happened--again. Artie was bending in his chair, shoving his backpack into his locker, when it was suddenly snatched from his hands. The locker was slammed closed, and Artie looked up in surprise to meet Santana’s impassive eyes. 

Artie intended to question her, to ask Santana what the hell her deal was--and then she did the most bizarre thing. She swung Artie backpack up onto her shoulder, grabbed the handles of his wheelchair, and began to push him down the hallway.

“Come on, Abrams. You and I are going on a little trip.” She said it in a way that made it clear he had no choice in the matter. Artie’s heartbeat sped up, although he was grateful to not he wasn’t as freaked out as yesterday. 

“Where--” Artie started to say, only to choke on his own words. He tried again. “Where are you taking me?”

“Your place,” Santana said simply, as if she thought it made complete sense. “I’ll need directions.”

Okay, /now/ he was panicking. Why would Santana want to go to his house? What did she plan to do? He thought about calling for help. Thought about--

“Relax, Abrams,” Santana suddenly snapped. “God, I can hear your thoughts from here.” A beat, then, “I thought, after yesterday’s episode, school was about the last place you needed to be.”

That was...weirdly considerant of her. 

Predictably, they received strange looks as Santana rolled him down the hallway. This resulted in Santana--he assumed--glaring them into submission. At one point, she stopped his chair in the middle of the hall, walking in front of Artie to grab the slushie from a jock who was a approaching them. She tossed into his face, smirking evilly as she walked back to Artie. He couldn’t help but smile a bit at that.

The smile quickly disappeared when they passed Brittany, who was leaning against a locker, head bowed as she clutched some books to her chest. She glanced up with red-rimmed eyes, which widened at the sight of Artie.

Brittany let out a strangled sound in the back of her throat. And then something entirely bizarre happened. The blonde cheerleader dropped her books--colouring books, and oh, God, a book about consent. She seemed to stumble toward Artie, falling to her knees when she reached him. Sobbing, Brittany wrapped her arms around Artie’s midsection, pressing her face to his stomach.”  
“I’m so sorry, Artie!” she wailed. “I didn’t know. I--” She cut herself off, crying into Artie’s stomach and making sounds that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from a wounded animal. 

Artie, for his part, went still, feeling himself instinctively stiffen. What exactly was he supposed to do--say? That he forgave her? Because he didn’t. Even though he sort of wanted to.

Having her touching him again was kind of freaking Artie out. But at least he wasn’t panicking like yesterday. 

“Brittany…” Artie started to say, only to stop when Santana entered his line of sight. She knelt down, gently gripping Brittany’s arm and pulling her up. The two hugged briefly. Everyone in the hallway was staring at them--including Kurt, who was standing a few paces away, a plastic container gripped in his hands. 

“I didn’t mean to, Santana,” Brittany sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry, Artie!” Her eyes were on him again, and Artie shifted a bit, not sure about what he should be doing right now. 

“Not now, Brittany,” Santana said softly, smoothing down Brittany’s hair. “Just...not now.”

Gently, Santana pushed Brittany away, gripping the handles of Artie’s chair one more. They passed Brittany. Artie swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. 

Everyone was staring at them, Artie noted nervously as Santana pushed him along. Including Kurt, who was heading straight for Artie, a plastic container balanced on his hands.

“It’s okay, Santana,” Artie said quickly, before the girl in question could go on defense again. He heard Santana sigh in frustration, although she seemed to take his assurance to heart. 

“Hey, Artie,” Kurt greeted softly, giving him a nervous smile. Artie did his best to return it. “I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better today.” He shifted the container to one hand, reaching up to fiddle with scarf wrapped his neck. It was purple with vines and flowers decorating it. Honestly, the scarf looked like it had come from the women’s section of the clothes store. Kurt managed to pull it off pretty well, though.

“I mean,” Kurt continued. “I don’t really know what’s wrong, but you can, um, talk to me. If you ever want to. I promise not to pry, though.”

Artie’s smile, this time, was completely genuine. Out of all the members in the New Directions, Kurt was the only one who hadn’t badgered him yesterday after what he called “the debacle.” Unlike everyone else, who had sent him countless texts and voicemails--Rachel had even shown up at his house, only to be turned away by his mother--Kurt had sent just one text message: Are you okay? I’m here if you want someone to talk to. So simple, and yet somehow more meaningful. Perhaps because Kurt seemed understand when a person needed space. 

“Thanks, Kurt,” Artie said. “I appreciate it.” 

Kurt smiled nervously at him, his eyes darting to Santana every few seconds. He held out the plastic container. “I baked you some cookies. They’re chocolate chip--everyone likes chocolate chip, right? If you don’t like them, I can make something else…”

“No. That’s awesome, actually.” Artie took the container from Kurt, carefully placing it in his lap. “Thank you.”

Kurt looked relieved. His eyes flickered to Santana once more, before refocusing on Artie. “Well...I’ll see you later, then.” With that, he cautiously walked away.

They had a few more run-ins with members of the New Directions, but Santana made certain they lasted no longer than a few seconds. She even went as far as to shove Rachel away with her forearm, much to her disgruntlement. When they finally stopped at Santana’s care--red, like the hell she had come from, Artie couldn’t help but think--she stared at him thoughtfully, arms crossed.

“Alright, Abrams. Can I pick you up? Because unless you want to roll in that chair for however many kilometers, I need to get you in my car.” Clearly she noticed Artie’s suddenly elevated breathing, because she said, much more softly, “I promise I won’t touch you...like that.”

After a moment of deliberately trying to calm himself down, Artie nodded. 

The drive was silent, broken only by Artie’s quiet directions. However, when Santana seemed to have figured out the way, she said quietly, “I talked to Brittany. About what happened.”

He stared at her. “I gathered that.” A pause. “And?”

Santana didn’t answer. Instead, after a moment of silence, she asked, “Are you going to go the police?” Her voice cracked bit, although it was obvious Santana was trying to stay composed. 

“Yes,” Artie replied carefully. “I think I am.”

Santana’s hands tightened on the wheel. Artie could swear he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“Good. That’s...good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, please? 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, could someone refresh my memory? Was Sam on the show when Brittany an dArtie first "slept" together? Just wondering.


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part! Yay! Let me know what you think.

“How are you feeling, Artie? Any better?” Kurt asked softly as he accepted the container of butterscotch cookies. Ever since Artie had admitted to him that he loved anything to do with butterscotch, Kurt had seemed to make it his life’s mission to find every recipe under the sun. It was really quite nice of him, and Artie couldn’t help but wonder why they hadn’t become better friends a year ago. 

“Alright, I guess,” Artie replied. He lifted the plastic lid, unable to wait, and selected the biggest cookie he could find. Biting into it, Artie closed his eyes in bliss, resisting the urge to moan out loud. He held the container out to Kurt, who smiled and took a cookie for himself. 

“I mean,” Artie continued, “it’s hard, but I’m...coping.” He really wished his mother would stop hovering. Artie had heard her in the hallway outside his bedroom on multiple occasions. Kurt would never hurt him. That Artie was completely, one hundred percent confident about.

“That’s good,” Kurt enthused, smiling brightly at him. This, Artie thought, was why he enjoyed Kurt’s company so much these days. Somehow, he seemed to find the fine line between treating him gently and treating him like a normal person. “All we want is for you to recover; we don’t expect miracles.” 

Well, perhaps Kurt and Santana didn’t--even Quinn had plenty of tact--but everyone else… When Puck and Sam had said variations of “I’d let a hot girl rape me any day,” Artie had, honest to God, thought he would throw up. He would admit that he was a bit a surprised when Kurt stormed right up to Puck--who was at least two, if not four inches taller than him--and shoved him hard against the chest. 

“You imbecile,” he’d hissed, his tone venomous. “People don’t ‘let’ rape happen to them.” 

Honestly, Artie had to wonder why he and Kurt hadn’t become better friends sooner. 

It was with sudden guilt that Artie lowered his cookie--which had been raised to his mouth in an effort to avoid more talking--to his lap. “Kurt?”

“Hmm?” Kurt hummed, perking up and looking at Artie intently. Artie heard his mother’s footsteps pause in the hallway. 

Artie glanced down, suddenly finding himself unable to meet Kurt’s gaze. “I know you’ve been having...problems at school--with Karofsky and the other jocks. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, if there’s anything I can do.” 

Kurt looked taken aback, and rightfully. Throughout the past month or so, Kurt had become a sort of rock to Artie--along with Santana, although her methods of comfort were different. It was rather nice, being able to talk to someone who understand the pressure guys could be put under, while also being secure enough in himself to actually talk about feelings without any mockery. Artie had thought, at one point, that he should be terrified of being alone with Kurt, seeing as he was attracted to guys. One the contrary, however, Kurt was the one person besides his mother that Artie felt comfortable around. He’d stood by Artie’s side during Brittany’s arrest and trial, never once faltering. Kurt had even let him cry on his shoulder on more than one occasion--although he always made a point to ask permission before physically touching Artie in any way. And for all that, Artie was grateful. He would never be able to thank Kurt properly for all he’d done. 

Presently, a shy smile flitted across Kurt’s face. 

“Thank you, Artie. I appreciate that. 

***  
The trial had been brutal, and undoubtedly one of the most stressful times in Artie’s life. This was largely due to the fact that the judge--a white male. Go figure--seemed more amused by the entire ordeal than anything. It took a combination of his mother’s angry shouting, Brittany’s tearful confession--and why hadn’t that gotten her incarcerated immediately--and the help of their lawyer for Brittany to be given a six month sentence in a juvenile detention center. And a number of community service hours that made Artie’s head spin. 

Artie had always known the world was pretty messed. But this--this had been a slap in the face. For the first time in his life, Artie saw just how screwed up the world was, and he didn’t like it one bit. Finding people who sympathized with his situation was more difficult that it should have been. It had, in fact, taken Artie a half hour to convince himself to call the helpline his mother had suggested. 

Too many people though it wasn’t possible for a man to be assaulted. Either that, or they thought he should have “enjoyed” the experience. Or simply dealt with it. It was disgusting.

Artie had never in his life been more grateful to feminists. The majority of them were sympathetic to his plight. He’d even met a girl on a chat site under the username of This-Kitty-Has-Claws who always seemed willing to listen to him when they were both online. She was a bit sarcastic, but she was kind enough, which he appreciated. 

***  
Artie sat stiffly in his chair as Mercedes finished singing. Considering Brittany’s trial and sentence had been a week ago, Artie had hoped everything in glee club would go back to a state that at least resembled normal. But that did not seem to the case. 

Admittedly, the songs about “it gets better,” “we’re here for you,” “God will protect you,” and so on had been appreciated at first. And then they had started to get annoying. Was it too much to ask someone to treat him at least somewhat normally? He didn’t expect everyone to act like nothing had happened, but still. He wasn’t made of glass, thank you very much.  
He kind of wanted to throttle Mercedes right now. 

Quinn was staring at him, Artie noted. Over the last three weeks, Artie’s defense squad--as he liked to call them--had grown significantly. Now it consisted of Quinn, Santana, Tina--Mike, sort of--and Kurt. Artie had admit he enjoyed spending with them as a group.

As Mr. Schue praised Mercedes, Quinn stood up, cutting off Rachel’s incredibly predictable “Mr. Schue, if I may?”

“Mr. Schue, I’d like to say something,” Quinn announced.

“Of course, Quinn, go ahead,” Mr. Schue consented, gesturing in a way that indicated Quinn had the floor. Clearly he thought she was going to sing something. 

Quinn did not, in fact, sing anything. Instead, she said, “First of all, Mercedes, I would like to say that was very beautiful. You’re a wonderful singer.” Mercedes nodded, looking confused. “But,” Quinn continued, “as much as I know you all want to support Artie, don’t you think it’s time we all moved on?”

“What?!” Rachel spluttered indignantly. There were more protests. Quinn calmly waited until there was a lull before speaking again.

“You’ve all been so supportive of Artie, and that’s wonderful.” Quinn’s voice was completely sincere. “But can’t you see bringing it up all the time makes him uncomfortable?”

“Quinn,” Mr. Schue chastised, “I don’t think that’s fair.”

Rachel started to go off on a rant about how Quinn didn’t understand--ugh--but this time it was Artie who spoke up.

“It’s true.” Suddenly all the eyes in the room were on him. He resisted the urge to squirm. “Honestly, I wish you’d all just stop.”

There was a long silence, which was broken by Santana.

“Well, there’s an easy way to fix that,” she said, standing up. “Let’s blow this joint.” With that, she grasped the handles of Artie’s chair and started to push him toward the door. He made no protest, slumping into his chair with relieved exhaustion. 

The rest of his new group of friends followed.

***  
They remained friends over the years. Although finding a label on what to call his relationship with Santana was...rather difficult. He would admit that he was a little relieved when Kurt remained in Lima longer than anticipated--although he was saddened by his rejection form NYADA. Artie had hated it when Kurt had transferred previously, even if he did understand why.

Thankfully, when their graduation came along, Sanatana set them all up with a group text, so that they could remain in fairly regular contact. That, along with Tina’s friendship--and his newfound friendship with Kitty Wilde--made the last bit of his time in high school infinitely more tolerable. Especially with Brittany there.

Life moved on. As it always did.

***  
Artie would admit that he was a little surprised when Ryder admitted it had been a woman who’d molested him. But that didn’t make him any less sympathetic.

The same could not be said for Sam, who didn’t understand at all why Ryder would be ashamed by such an ordeal. As Sam went on, Artie sat frozen in chair, a mixture of shock and rage twisting his stomach.

Blaine, Brittany, Tina and Kitty were all staring at him. Artie didn’t that Kurt had told his ex about what had happened to him--he’d thought they were a good couple at first. That didn’t mean he regretted rolling over the other boy’s toes in revenge for his cheating on Kurt.

“Oh, shut up, Sam,” Kitty hissed, sounding thoroughly ticked off. 

But Sam didn’t listen. He gave Ryder a slap on the back, actually /congratulating/. He didn’t seem to see the way Ryder was slowly shrinking on himself, shutting down under the lack of sympathy.

“I get it,” Artie said softly, cutting Sam off mid sentence. Ryder’s shocked gaze flew to his, almost desperate as his eyes searched Artie’s. Artie looked back grimly.

For a moment, there was silence.

And then Brittany got up and left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely hope I am not offending anyone with this story. If I am, I will take it down. But please be gentle. It's my first time addressing such a serious topic in my writing.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, reviews? They would be appreciated.


End file.
